Saint Kitts and Nevis
by AngelicaGrillo
Summary: Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back. This story is a tale of development, love, mystery, and the pursuit of happiness at the most. It revolves around two girls as different as night and day, while they embark on the journey of life.
1. Story of My Life

Waves. As much as I love them, I have to admit, they're quite a pain. It doesn't really help that I'm plunging to my death right now in the gurgling mouth of saltwater- _churning, desperate_ saltwater. Hmph, and that's not the worst of it. I've just been raped of all my innocence, my home has been destroyed, my reliant forests are burning down in flames, and in an urgent escape for refuge, the waves have just swallowed my raft.

Life is swell, isn't it?

Alright. I'll stop being such a sympathy-whore. Yup, _that's right_, moral guardians, _I just cursed._ In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit; Amen.

Well, anyway, if you really must know, this is how I came to be in this lovely situation.

It all began a few years back, when I was…13? Heh, I can't remember. But anyways, I was developing rather _lady-like_ features.. as to say I was going through puberty. Sheesh, I didn't have a digger-dog's idea of what was going on with my body. I just thought I'd stay short, flat, and sienna. Guess I was wrong. Ick, this back story is being dragged out _so_ darn far, just like the sea. The sea stretches on forever, just like this back story. And thus, my redundancy-o-meter is cranked up to eleven. Then the blind man picked up his ax and saw.

Okay, okay, enough with the lousy idioms. Let's just get on with this, shall we? While I'm wheezing for dear life, I'd love to share my past with you.

Ahem, gentlemen of the jury, please have a mere crumb of courtesy to hear me out! In the next set of events that I will be ever-so-nonchalantly self-forced to tell you, you will be faced with some things that aren't very, eh.. how do I put this- _pleasing_ to the public eye. Big Brother is watching. And he is watching over our every move. So, I have to be careful as to what I say. And some things that come out of my mouth aren't very pretty. So, with that said, let's go on.

When I was little, I had no worries, because I had nobody. No one to tell me what to do, set the line between right and wrong. Basically I was a wild child. I didn't seem to mind that at all, though. In fact, I liked it that way. I usually had my head in the clouds, in my own little la-la land. Where everything was perfect. That's how I viewed the small tropical island in which I was the only inhabitant, as a blissful utopia just beckoning to be shared with the ones you love. Except there's no one there to love, let alone share it with.

Everything changed one day, when I witnessed a hard, massive object protruding into my sandy coastlines. What was this object in eye? What I later found out to be a _ship,_ is what I was bowing down on my knees to as if it were some sort-of a God at that very moment. Well, what would you expect from little ol' isolated me and my made-up religion? I hadn't been introduced to Christianity, or as for more specific terms, Catholicism, until said person tainted my celibate shores. This person was _Spain, _he was the first male, or first person in that case, I had ever seen in my entire life. I was curious as to which who he was, what was he like? Did he have the same anatomy as me? Apparently yes, and no. Spain was, as I have already mentioned, a _male._ And anyone with common knowledge knows that _male_ creatures of most species have something that females don't. I'm not going to get into that. Spain, however, _was_ in fact a human being, and that was enough for me.

He and his ship stayed at port there for a while, and throughout this span of time, I learned quite a lot from him. He taught me his language, and as a bonus, another one, in which I am speaking right now. Astronomy? Check. Mathematics? Check. Literacy? Hey, how do you suppose I'm writing this, huh?

Soon, I started trading my sugar cane stalks for a nifty crop that Spain had titled _tomatoes. _They were completely new to me (and as a result, _very_ delicious), as well as everything else Spain had been presenting to me in exchange for something else.

As strange as it is, I was falling head-over-heels for him. There was just something about him that made me feel…_titillated._ Maybe it was his luscious mahogany hair that oscillated nobly through the breeze? His mysterious chartreuse **_orbs_** that looked not into, but _through_ my eyes and deep into my soul? His rugged tawny skin that had a risqué glow to it while glistening in the sunlight? Heh. See how gushy my description is right there? That's how I write when I'm in love. No, scratch that, _puppy _love. So suck it up and be a man.. uhm.. woman… yeah you get the point. Well, it just so coincidentally happened to be that right after I confessed my feelings to him, Spain fled from my island, and never came back again. _I know he'll come back, I just know it! _Boy, was I stupid. Stupid and blinded by love. _Puppy_ love. (Redundancy strikes again! Tell the bishop, tell the priest, tell Miss Molly, who's deceased!) So, to sum it up, I eventually lost faith in him and became quite depressed. _Cry me a damn river, _you're thinking. I don't blame you, I'm thinking the same exact thing. As time passed, I learned to go on with my life without Spain. My relationship with him was just a short-lived fling, nothing more, nothing less. I'd get over it, and I did. _Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again._

Then, something else happened. _How splendid. _Indeed it is. Another set of those _ships_ landed on the brink from abroad. This time around, I fled within the undergrowth that overlapped the beach. From my hiding place, I could get a good view of a pair of gentlemen, bickering gentlemen at that. They looked fair, their hair colors resembling the feathers of a canary. One of the men had unrealistically large eyebrows, the other had an awful stubble along his chin. _Harmless gentlemen. _My formerly forgiving, childish heart wanted to believe. _Shall I reveal myself to them?_

I had made my decision. Tip-toeing with a certain discreet aura that I was definitely trying to avoid (I didn't want to come off as overly cautious or anything!), I came into sight on the grains. Cue the awkward silence. They stared at me with beady eyes. At this point in my (slightly long) back story, I was far past the threshold between childhood and adolescence, physically speaking. That fact was the fine line which determined my fate, and let me take a second to inform you; _it's not a very good one. _

The gentlemen standing before me were known as _England _and _France._ They were not the most pleasant people I have met, (actually I'd prefer not even coming in contact with them at all) but when put together, it's like hell in a jumpsuit. They continued arguing. Not paying any mind to me. Now, women of the jury, with your earnest following eyes and your furrowed brows, what question could you possibly be conjuring? Oh, nevermind, I've already got it soiled in my thoughts. _What were they quarreling about? _Well, my fellow reader, it all has to do with a complicated little gig called _land partitions. _Both men wanted my island for themselves. Both men couldn't _have_ it for themselves. And thus, they were bickering like an old married couple. Sooner or later, they ended their dispute and settled a (on their behalf) reasonable agreement: that they break up the island in half. France would own one of the halves, England would own the other. I didn't have a say in this at all, but does it look like I care? I'm as happy as a two-toed timber wolf with a bucket of tapir livers. Just fine!

In the first few months of this pre-apocalyptic situation- wait, what was that? You're getting fed up with my over-exaggerations? Oh, I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you over my gluttonous intake of **I DON'T CARE ABOUT YOUR FEELINGS SO GET OVER IT. **Says it right on the tin. Now, let's throw this conversation back into bounds, 'cause we keep going off track. In those first few months, all was hunky-dory. England and France stayed to their own tracts of land, I avoided them at all costs, and there were animals singing in the forest. Alright, if you're smarter than the typical American fifth grader, you know that I was blatantly lying on the last line. If not, then jokes on you, dunce.

**UNEXPECTED CHANGING POINT AHEAD.**

_You've been warned. _War broke out. Between England and France. All of a sudden. It was harsh. _Beige prose mode- off._ The events that happened from here on are going to get _slightly_ graphic- just saying. Turn back now if you don't think you can handle it…_pansy._

There was gunpowder. Like black rain flaring through the air. It stained my skin, stained the beaches, stained the flora like a permanent marker. My corneas were clouded with distrust, dissonance, and all the other horrible things you can come up with using _dis _as a prefix. Not to mention the ear-popping turbulence of canons that are still, to this very moment, replaying in my mind like a broken record. Haunting my thoughts must've been France and England's main virtue during this pointless battle (I mean seriously, it was going absolutely nowhere!), 'cause they were pretty damn good at it. You'd think by then, things would be turning sunny-side up, with your optimistic, _"the sun'll come out tomorrow" _spirit. Let me inform you, my dear reader, it all goes downhill from here.

As midnight crept closer over the already black-smitten skies, I was Little Red Riding Hood, being tempted and teased like a play-thing by the Big Bad Wolf. Silly me, falling for his obviously ominous tricks. At the peak of _Mt. Climax, _he ate me out. That sly dog. During these course of events, I felt a certain _sting_ in a sacred area of my body. The red cloak that veiled my hair was torn to shreds. It was gone forever, simply something I could _never_ get back. That's when I woke up, to find my wrinkled clothes laying by my legs, and a thick crimson fluid on the mat I was sleeping on. Now, what could _that_ possibly be, hmm? If you guessed pasta sauce, congratulations! You have now been crowned king (and for my feminist readers out there) or queen of the innocent-minded simpletons. If you guessed blood, I rationally think you're normal. Actually no, I _don't_ think you're normal, I think you're just half-decent. Now let's move on. _This couldn't have happened very long ago, there's still that scent. That foreign scent. _Surely enough, I was right, it didn't happen very long before my discovery. How did I know this? The damp part of the shore- the part that the tide seems to casually cast upon, was tattered with footsteps, leading to the sea. The tide was low at that time, it had been that way since about 3:00 AM. The high tide will start to emerge at 9:00 AM. From what I can remember of the sun's point in the sky, I'd say I woke up somewhere along the lines of 5:15. If you haven't guessed already, England and France's ships were nowhere in sight, but they couldn't have left no earlier than 3:00. From the freshness of the footprints (they were barely eroded), I'm guessing they left at about four o'clock, or maybe 4:30.

I was so caught up in the moment, in the realization of what had happened to me during my deep slumber, that I didn't even notice the death bed that was expanding behind me. But then again, my patient reader, _I'm sure it didn't notice me, either._

Next came my epiphany. The stages of said subject proceed as told;

_Act 1:_ Uttermost silence. In this stage, you have your cliché stock character, interesting three dimensional character, or whatever your little heart desires taking a good amount of time attempting to take in all of the information being unfolded before them. Insert wide-eyed stare, with a pinch of dangling jaws. _Presto!_ You have perfected this stage.

_Act 2:_ Meticulous melodrama. Once your char-bear has soaked in the preserved information, they will most likely take a trip to the _Angst Archipelago_, but you can't take that seriously, now can you? It'll look like a blown up version of your short and simple _no. _Thus making it overly dramatic, to the point where it's so bad that it's good, you get a chuckle or two out of it, then it just..(insert tired sigh) _eeeh, _falls flat.

_Act 3: _Dastardly denial. After the accurate dosage of '_whiny depressed teenager who thinks his petty problems are pretty much the_ _most horrible things in the world, and has no regard whatsoever to people living in poverty-struck villages with no food or purified water who would give all they have, which is probably not much, to have the life that this ever-so sad teenybopper has' _your character will deny that they have any concern for what is to come out of this situation. They now believe that this problem that meant the world to them just one second ago, is now history. When really, deep inside, they still have that _sorrowful_ stature that quickly bubbled up on the surface, but soon simmered down and resided in the core of their being.

_Act 4: _Acceptance. In the final stage, your character easily acknowledges the fact that what is done has been done, and if that's the way God wants it, then so be it. They will move on with their life. Whether for the good, or the bad. They will hopefully pull through and survive the apprehension that got them oh-so wound up.

You see that? That's me, being explanatory. Deal with it. And yes, if you're wondering, I did act directly as I have described in my stages of epiphany. So what? Alrighty, let's wrap this up. After I broke through those stages, my mind was like a bomb on the urge of igniting. Billions of mixed thoughts and emotions stirred up inside that ticking time bomb, about to burst out into oblivion. The vegetation on my island was torching at an alarming rate. The sky, in contrast to the lit forests, earned itself a gray composure. And to top it all off, the chill of dawn winds was rustling up my back, setting ablaze goosebumps along with mordant fear. This is exactly what I love to wake up to in the morning. Noble gentlemen of the jury, let me assist you with the first act of morality on my behalf. Morality- from my point of view, it wasn't those principles that your parents taught you as a kid, but what my mind, my soul, and my heart believed was _right_. Something that would get me out of this mess, like a survival step. So, I scurried over to my thatched hut (that was conveniently falling apart from coming in contact with the forest fire) , ducked for cover from any stray specks of red-hot ash, and leaped up to my toes for a split second, risking everything. Distraught reader, why did I do this? To get a hold of the loosely tied roof, which along with the rest of the hut, was collapsing. It was an act, if one were to say, of mirrored fate at the best. At first glance, this seemed like a risky, _I don't want to see the outcome _kind of idea. Per se, things turned out potentially great, and I actually made it to the swaying line separating land and water with roof in hand.

Here I was, securing the ties that were holding the roof together. My mat, my bloodstained mat, rested beside my thigh as I fussed with the rooftop. Was I really going to do what the jury is accumulating right now in their minds? Yes, my reader, yes I am. My body started to bob up and down along with the steady low tide. I could feel touches of sea foam tickling my toes, reminding me of those childhood memories I clung tightly to, wishing I could have them back, even for _just_ a minute. My roof-raft idea was going well so far- well, _so far. _As I wandered out onto open water, the sea level wasn't the _only _thing that was rising. My anxiety started to increase, and so did my thirst for land. Like I mentioned earlier, the clouds were growing larger, and they were churning into a menacing gray. _Bad signs. _As if on cue, the waves had started stirring up. And let the fun begin.

Storms are like wives to husbands, you can't live wit' 'em, but you can't live wit' out them. They're a staple source of fresh water, but can cause hazardous effects when you're stuck in the wrong place at the wrong time. The crashing waves, the crowning source of my distressed feelings at that moment (besides all else that had happened), were now tipping and turning my raft. Eventually, as you've been guessing, the mouth of the sea became so violent, that it swallowed my raft whole. And now, here we are, right where we left off.

But just wait- I know you're thinking that I should probably be dead right now since it took you at least fifteen minutes to read that, and in that time, I would've drowned. _Well, …_no. As soon as you reached the fifth paragraph, I thrusted myself onto a rather large piece of wood from the debris of my raft, and was holding on for dear life. So technically, I'm A-OK. For now.

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><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Hello, dear reader. Thank you so much for taking the time out of your day to read my story. You have no idea how much I appreciate that. I hope you've enjoyed it so far. Please review, I'd love to hear your thoughts on my work! If you're wondering who our protagonist is, well, let's just say that you'll know by at least the end of chapter three. Good luck! God bless!  
><strong>P.S. <strong>Happy belated 4th of July! Sorry if I am a day late, I was out all day yesterday celebrating. By the time I got home, I was awfully exhausted. I went to the King Of Prussia mall for the first time yesterday! It was so awesome! (Well, of course it would be! If Prussia is included in something, it's automatically awesome!) I'm kind of angry though since it is the _second_ largest mall in the USA, when it deserves to be the first! Stupid Mall Of America, trying to out-stage the awesome Prussia. (Wow, am I _really_ ranting about malls?) Anyways, what did you, the reader, do for the 4th of July? (Don't worry, if you don't celebrate Independence Day, you don't have to answer that question.) Oh, and one more thing- have you heard the song _Fairytale_ by Sara Bareilles? It's an amazing song, I recommend you give it a listen.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> _Hetalia_ was created by and belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya. The lyrics to _Tomorrow_ were originally written by Martin Charnin. The Biblical origin of the _Trinitarian Formula _is in Matthew 28:19. The biblical origin of the _Memorial Acclamation _could not be traced down by me, if you know the origin please notify me and I'll include it right here. This story by all means belongs to me, Angelica Grillo.


	2. Deep Blue Depths And Questionable Dreams

_Blistering heat. Blinding rays. Lethal sun._ It was 9:00 AM, and I was in the epitome of vast nothingness. The middle of nowhere. All that surrounded me were rolling hills of seawater. In addition to that was the cloudless sky above, but that doesn't really count in my book. From the looks of it, there wasn't a mere chance of hope in my horizon. Hope, that undying emotion which managed to remain within me through thick and thin, had grown evanescent as I drifted farther out onto open waters. I guess it isn't really eternal after all. My semi-sunburnt body was still clinging to the piece of debris that I had been using as my last lifeline for the past few hours. 50 bucks says I'll loose my grip and drown. 50 bucks says _you're wrong. _I knew for a fact that I wasn't going to let go. Even if fate decided to have it's way with me and stir up some circumstance where I would be forced to lose my hold on the rooftop rubble, I still wouldn't let go. That's when it occurred to me. I obviously can't stay like this forever. Sooner or later my arms were going to grow tired. Then I'd break away. I knew that that very moment- the slipping point -would be the inked period calling me out at the conclusion of my storybook. _The end_.

No! I can't believe such negative things! I've already cheated death once or twice in the past few days. I'll do it again if I have to! I will not give in ever-so easily to such discouraging pish-posh! I should be thinking happy thoughts. Butterflies and rainbows. Unicorns and Hallmark movies. Lollipops and bunnies. That's the spirit!

Aw, who am I kidding. I'll never make it out of this mess. That's alright with me. It's God's decision. If he doesn't want me on this Earth, then I'll gladly accept being liberated to the paradise that is heaven. Or hell. Whichever he chooses. Gosh! This is ridiculous of me! I don't want to die! What's gotten into me? _Sea Salt- _straight from the billows of the deep. Great, just great. I'm ecstatic.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

_The world is shaking- shifting in and out of a blurry seasick state. The unsettled tendrils of the briny-blue are pulling me down from underneath. And I feel my stomach starting to growl. Oh no, whatever shall I do? Remaining calm was definitely crossed out twice with a silver bullet, so what's up next? Half-doggy paddle escape strategy to the rescue. The shaky-quaky and ever most nauseate-y view from my point wasn't helping the cause. Not to mention my salted eyesight. Nonetheless, I kicked my feet with all my might. Still this wasn't enough to push me past the raging currents which were of course separating and clasping together. Push- the one syllable remedy to my illness. If only I could manage to- wait, what's holding me back? Nothing. So why am I just buoying around, when I could be barking some progress? Gee whiz, why don't you tell me? Let's skip to the part where my chest is plurging against my driftwood death-o-cide. Bring in the kicking motions of my feet. We're set to go! The next thing on my agenda was achieving calmer waters. Push-push-push, kick-kick-kick, push-kick-push-kick. That's my one way ticket out of this bottomless pit. Or at least to safe and steady waters, as I've mentioned already. It was getting me somewhere leastwise. The…oh my gosh. What does this ocean have against me? It's casting out a tidal wave like no other that I've seen. The best part of it all is that it's heading straight toward me. Hooray. Gentlemen, noble gentlemen of the jury, please hang your heads in shame. For I am about to be crushed by a higher power, a menacing water-wall. And I can't do anything about it. That is all. I'm stumped. There is only one thing I can do at this point. Close my eyes, count the sheep, soon fall into a deep…deep.. sleep. _

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

Darkness- endless darkness. The only thing that surrounded me. It seemed as if I were in an abyss of some sort. That, my reader, is a wrong assumption. Once my eyes had adjusted to the black as night gloom around me, I could tell that I was in a crate. _How in the hell did I end up in a crate? _I have no idea. It seemed to be bobbing along over placid waters. Only one thing was on my mind at this moment. _I need to get out of here._ I placed both hands on the walls of the crate, stooped my feet against the base. It was then and there that I noticed something- a peephole. It was located on the upper-left part of the side of the crate that was facing me. Then, as if on cue, things turned upside-down…literally. A sudden change in the currents caused the crate to tip over. I think you know where it goes from here. Salt-saturated water started to seep into the crate through the hole. It's only a matter of time before the crate would be filled in and out with liquid, resulting in a sinking sailor- me. The water level had now epped up to my waist. _Time to panic?_ Not quite yet. This crate _had_ to have an opening somewhere…just somewhere. I scaled the ceiling of the confined cube, hoping for some crack or crevice that I may be able to _pry_ open. Nothing. I was now tempted to actually bash my head against the wooden walls of this crate; _anything to escape._ What the bloody _hell_. This saltwater has really been getting to my head lately. Am I _actually_ debating on whether or not I should save myself from the clammy hands of death? Shit, if that peephole weren't so small I'd be dead by now. So watch me, my fair reader, as I kill off some brain cells by saving them in the process. My head struck the crate with a simple _plunk_. If you are familiar with what usually goes on in those chipper ol' movies, you do know that it's not going to be _that _easy for me to get out of there (heck, I'm still trying to figure out how I ended up in that deathtrap in the first place). So, I tried it a few more times. Still wouldn't budge. During my last and final (redundancy much? You say that to my face and just see where it'll get you. I know where you live. I am watching your every move. I will come to your house in 20 years while you're sleeping and eat your children. Then I'll drain out their blood and pour it into 5 bottles. But oh, what's that? I forgot the paranoid little 4 year-old hiding in the closet? Just wait- I'll come back after 20 more years have passed and force him to down the bottles of blood. After that I'll castrate him. And your dog. Then I'll feed the testicles to you. _While you're sleeping._ So watch out.) head-thrust against the ceiling, my noggin wasn't the only thing hitting a hard-on. The crate had seemingly crashed into or onto something. A rock? A coral reef? My sanity? Better yet, actual motherfucking land? Well hmm, Mister-Doctor-Sir, what do you diagnose after seeing said symptoms? **On the last blow to my head, which simultaneously occurred the event in which my little box of soon-to-be horrors crashed into some sort of thing, I at-lastly managed to break through the crate, gaining a face full of sand (did I mention the sunlight that smacked me right in the eyes? That could take some time getting used too, even though it _was_ the sun I knew and loved to hate).** So Herr Doktor, what is your final judgment? _A rock! _Nope, not even close. You, my reader, are being left on a whim this time. Just take a wild mass guess and try to determine with your _oh so smart _brains where I am. _This could take a while. _Now if you'll excuse me, I need to return to reality; for this a dream and I must wake up. Can't loll in dreamland forever, now can I?

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

My eyelids pulled back, hair pushed out of face, the world was revealed to me again. It wasn't _my_ world though. There was just something different. Very different. So uncannily different that it seemed like I traveled to another dimension. I wasn't stranded at high seas anymore, but instead stranded on white beaches, small mushroom-cloud shaped trees, weeds with hearts stemming out of their curly-Q vines, and short trim shoots of green coating the "forest" floor instead of the usual underbrush. And that's not even the half of it. This all-too-nosy girl herself tumbled to her feet. I simply couldn't believe how unbelievable this place is.

How did I end here anyway? After I dozed off, I must've survived that mutant-wave that was heading in my direction. Heh, I told you I could cheat death again! Or maybe I was too far away for it to reach me, and it just died off (since it _was_ coming at me from a distance). Well, however the tsunami-thing passed through, a miracle must've been sent my way to prevent me from dying. Or maybe I'm just luckstruck.

Next, I've done the impossible by not drowning whilst sleeping on a literal waterbed. Now how did I do that? I'll tell you, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I must've been touched by an angel when I was born into this world full of wonders. But that's just me. I can't perform miracles, I didn't create mankind, but I am, like I've mentioned a paragraph ago, luckstruck. This single trait can easily be coined _a blessing._ There's just one thing: I, who has just noticed how damn fortunate I am right now to be alive and uninjured (except for a hell of a sunburn, a few scrapes and bruises from God knows what, and a knot in my tum- which is probably from that saltwater that I swallowed), do not deserve this luck. Somebody more worthy or in need should have it. Not me. So as I neared this continent-island-whatever-the-hell-it-is, I'm assuming the waves that wash over this landscape caught me on and pulled me closer. Before I knew it, I woke up beached on the coast of a thousand mysteries (well they were mysteries to me, at least). What now?

This very girl is snooping around. Poking her head into every shrub-bush; diving her nose into every flower; keeping an eye out for possible human inhabitants besides myself; you name it. As outlandish as this seems, I think I'm going to like it here. It's definitely poles apart to what I'm used to, but that's inversely a good thing. I'd love to try new things for a change, adapt to a new kind of life. And this is just the place for me to experience something in that range. I'm scooting up a tree like a little koala bear right now, and boy does it provide a scenic view of the coastline from up here! Wow! This…this is truly breathtaking. Just pure brilliance. No doubt about it. Just picture this in your mind: a pristine sea, overshadowing the ivory-cream beaches. Then a _tickle-me-meadow _deciduous forest scattered about. Somewhere in the mix was a cleverly hidden area, they were the greener pastures that everybody wishes to let themselves go to, _be free. _Then in the lower-hand edge of the forest there's a pond. Just an average Joe pond. Nothing much. But the way the sun reflected on this pond created a periwinkle fantasy-esque shimmer that made me just _reminisce_ for things that have never even happened to me in my past. But oh, I sure wish they did! When you think about it, this is the first time in what seems like a long time that I've been able to just sit back and relax with no worries on deck. But then something ruined the moment. No, it wasn't the realization that I do in fact have a million-and-one things to worry about. It was something else. I could've sworn I heard something rustle past down below on the forest floor. It seemed to be rushing away in an instant; maybe it was fleeing from a predator? I, being _me,_ just had to scurry down the tree trunk to investigate. Then and there, I noticed the clue that just _gave it away. _Imprinted into the muddy ground was a footprint, a _human_ footprint. So, there are actually other people in this place. Hm. Interesting.

**I MUST FIND THEM.**

**RIGHT NOW.**

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><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Hello there, thank you again for taking the time to read my story. You all inspire me and encourage me to keep writing**. **Thanks! I'm very grateful that you've actually continued reading my story, and didn't ditch it at the first chapter. Thank you so very much! Don't be afraid to review, I don't bite. I love all kinds of reviews, long, short, anything really. Still wondering who our protagonist is? You will find out very soon in chapter three. Good luck! God bless!**  
>P.S. <strong>This summer is going great so far in my opinion. I just hate how it all passes by so fast, and before you know it you're in school again. So, what do you, the reader, have in store for the summer? What did you do so far? Are you having a blast?  
><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>_Hetalia_ was created by and belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya. This story by all means belongs to me, Angelica Grillo.**  
><strong>


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